Broken Angel
by xXBladeWolfxX
Summary: I missed AkuDemy day! I want to cut myself for that! I'm ashamed! Anyway, this is just a suicide ficlet that wouldn't leave me alone, mostly because I have friends that someday I swear this is going to happen to. Um...reviews are love, but not begged for!


I know I missed AkuDemy day, so to make up for it, I'm posting a sad story and a mostly happy one for the pairing. I feel awful…Anyway, as you could guess from the genre, this is the sad one. I hope you enjoy, and don't hate me too much.

"Hey, Axel? Can I ask you something?" I look up from the textbook I've been glaring at, trying to make the jumble of letters and numbers form something legible, something real instead of just variables. Demyx was sitting across from me on my bed, idly plucking at the fire ball designs sewn on the black coverlet.

"You just did, but go ahead. What's up?"

He sighed. There was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a sort of lonesome longing. I felt my stomach lurch. Had Zexion….? No, Zexion wouldn't break up with the water lover. He had said himself that Demyx was the only thing that was light in his world. I'd always wondered, secretly, jealously, to myself if Zexion wouldn't snuff out Demyx's light.

"What do you do…what do you do when someone who you thought you loved…throws you away?" His voice trembled, and he was carefully avoiding my eyes. "Can…can you cry?"

I pull Demyx into my arms, tucking his head under my chin. The soft spikes of his hair are tickling my nose, but I don't care; they smell like Demyx, as much as they're part of what makes Demyx who he is. "Of course you can cry," I murmur, holding Demyx closer. "I think it's almost required."

"But…what if you don't…feel like crying?" His voice was so soft. "What if…you feel like dying?"

I lift his face to look into his eyes, and despite what he is saying, I still see tears glistening in his eyes. One slips down his cheek, and I brush it away gently with my thumb. "Why would you want to die?" I ask. "There are so many reasons to live!"

He shook his head fractionally. "No one…no one has ever cared enough to let me stay! No one! I'm not over-controlling, or really clingy, or perfect, or anything! But I'm never good enough!" The tears are streaming faster now, faster than I can catch them. But he isn't sobbing, the trembling in his voice the only thing that shows how desperate he is.

I feel my breath catch. I'd never thought of Demyx as beautiful, but he is. There is a vibrant lovability that just seems to flow from him like the music he plays so well. I tentatively lean forward, and whisper, "Demyx, can…can I kiss you?" To my relief, he nods shakily.

The kiss is chaste, no real fire. But there are the fires that burn bright and hot, lasting for only a few days, or at most, a week. Then there are those that smolder and smoke, never really taking off. But then…then there are those that are hot, steady and clean; the one's whose smoke never blankets the stars so that you can't reach for them, the one's that aren't so hot you can't get close and see the real intricacies woven into the flame. That's what the kiss feels like.

His tears are cool and salty as they slip between our lips, and when he closes his eyes, breaking the kiss to fold into my arms, several of his liquid sorrow spatters on my cheek. His shoulders are shaking now, and he's crying for real. I don't say anything; just shove all my homework off the bed and on to the floor. When he finally falls asleep, I lay him down and cover him gently with a blanket from my chair. I'm happy just to sit by his side and stroke his hair, easing the lines of pain and sadness from his innocent face. The face has always been so innocent, and yet, more often than not, he could defeat me at a perverted joke contest any day of the week.

Eventually, though, nature calls with a badly-timed urgency, and I leave the room briefly to satisfy that urge. When I come back, he's gone. There's a plunging swoop in my stomach, and spots burst behind my eyelids as the blood rushes from my face. "No," I whisper. There's a scrap of badly wrinkled paper, standing out garishly from the black coverlet.

With trembling fingers, I unfold the note. The ink is slightly faded, and there are many cross-outs. Demyx's slightly messy handwriting is a bit neater than normal, like he was really making an effort. The words just stay there as letters for a moment before I blink, then they form words. Instantly, I wish they had just stayed letters.

_Dear Axel or maybe I should say…beloved Axel. _

_Because that's really what I'm trying to say. I guess it's stupid to write this instead of tell you, but I think if I told you, I'd chicken out and you'd never know. At least this way it's in writing and I can't deny it. Not that I'll be able to deny it, but still. _

Here the letters grew darker, as though the ink had been recently applied to the paper, and hadn't worn off as much being creased and refolded as the earlier words. The writing was also more scrawled, and splotches of watermarks dotted the page.

_Axel, you were always there. No matter what. I could always depend on you, if only for something as simple as a cynical view of the world. Axel, I don't want you to freak out, but…I'll never be good enough for you. I love you, I do! I love you from the deepest part of my heart of hearts, but I'll never be able to live for you. There's always going to a be a bit of __**him **__still left inside. I mean, we were together for three years. In highschool, that's seriously saying something. But you know something more important that I need to say? I've loved you for so much longer. I think it was one of those things where as soon as someone teases you about it, and you deny it that you really think about it, and it's true! So…I'm really sorry Axel, but it's easier this way. As usual, I'm being a coward and running away from my problems…forever. _

_Much love,_

Demyx.

I let out a choked laugh. "You bastard," I whisper. "It took you this long to tell me…?" I let the paper fall from numb fingers, fluttering like a feather from an angel's wing to the bed. Several of my tears hit the paper with short noises, and the door slams behind me as I run after him.

I find him in an alley four blocks from my apartment. He's curled up, and I run to him, a hand outstretched to touch his shoulder. When I feel something warm and sticky, I jerk back, staring in disbelief at my hand. It's red…I glance back at him and see that I must have moved him, because now he's sprawled on his back, his neck red and with the dark red life substance still spilling from the gaping jagged slit across his neck.

Numbly, I open my cell phone and call the ambulance. I don't even know what I'm saying. I snap the phone shut and cradle him in my arms again, this time with the metallic scent of blood pervading his own personal scent. His shoulders aren't shaking now, and he isn't breathing. The knife he used is still loosely clasped in his fingers, held in place partly with drying blood.

I stare at the sky, which has grown dark and stormy, and as the first droplets of rain begin to patter down, washing away the blood from my broken angel's skin, I whisper, "You were always perfect enough for me."


End file.
